


Room 13

by leiascully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Hotel Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: It was nothing like what she’d imagined.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	Room 13

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Season 5  
> A/N: Tawdry motel sex sometimes fills a void

The motel they were staying in was the kind where she closed her eyes when she turned on the bathroom light because she didn’t want to know what was scuttling in the sudden brightness. But they had a continental breakfast, so after a shower, she and Mulder dutifully schlepped to the lobby, where they drank coffee that smelled like paint thinner. The least distasteful option was store brand yogurt, sickly with artificial sweetener. Scully spooned it up slowly and ignored Mulder as he dissected a soggy Danish, eating only the cream cheese. It was supremely unsatisfying: she knew she’d be hungry again before lunch. She sipped at the watery bitterness of her coffee and felt it sour inside her.

He followed her back to her room. Scully hadn’t bothered to finish drying her hair before breakfast, knowing that the stale scent of the lobby would linger unless she burned it away. Mulder sat on her bed, louche in his shirtsleeves, and talked at her as she searched for a hair dryer. She hadn’t packed her own this time, and the only one she found was tiny. The outlet by the sink didn’t work. She unplugged the pathetic little television and plugged in the pathetic little hair dryer instead. 

Mulder, sprawled now over the corner of her bed, said something ridiculous she couldn’t even remember later. She turned to glare at him, but the steel of her gaze hit the flint of his and sparks flew. He rolled up with predatory grace and crossed the few feet between them. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him down, kissing him hard. 

Her lips still tasted like fake strawberry. He breathed coffee into her mouth. Her hair was still damp around her collar. It was nothing like what she’d imagined. After her cancer had gone into remission, she’d had a plan, or at least a notion, but he’d nixed it then. The crackle of tension between them had woven itself into a web that sometimes comforted and sometimes choked her, but it had all gone up in flames in the heat of his gaze. Now there was only heat, a suffocating wash of it that took her breath away.

She pulled him closer. He pressed her against the cheap wobbly bureau and almost knocked both of them over. Grunting, he pushed her against the fall instead. She bit at him and hooked her fingers through his belt loops, hauling him against her hips. The leather of his belt stuck to her fingers like sweaty skin. He growled under his breath and turned her, pressing her cheek into the wall. He shoved his hand down the front of her skirt. Her waistband bit into her skin, but she pressed against his fingers all the same as they fumbled into her underwear. He braced his bulk behind her, pinning her between his body and the wall. His teeth and lips traced the back of her neck. She gasped as he sucked at her skin. 

She frotted against his fingers, going up on her toes. All his poise was gone and he rubbed roughly at her, his other hand squeezing her breast through the foam cup of her bra. The friction was almost painful, until his fingertips finally reached the slickness of her and managed to spread it over her clit. She keened into the beige wallpaper. The noises they were making weren’t words. There weren’t any promises or confessions of love. There wasn’t any romance. It was all inarticulate need: both of them working to get her off, pressure and heat and urgency amalgamating into inelegant passion. He panted against her neck and sucked at her skin. His arm was locked around her. She was trapped in his hold, but maybe she always had been, and this, finally, was the tawdry but inevitable culmination of their mutual entanglement. 

The faint pattern of the wallpaper was going to be printed across the arch of her cheek. She was gasping, helpless, the tail of her shirt coming untucked. She would be crumpled all day. The heat of her breath was already working at the seam of the wallpaper; it curled, just a little, rolling back under the tip of her nose as he rocked her against his fingers. She wondered, dimly, what would happen after she came. Would he push up her skirt and tug down her panties and fuck her up against the wall, her knee pulled over his hip? Would she drop to her knees and take him into her mouth, a new bitterness washing away the aftertaste of bad coffee and worse yogurt? Would she drag him into the shower, tearing all their clothes off on the way, and let the water sluice down over them as they sweated and grunted their way to climax in the grubby bathtub with its cheap fiberglass panels? Or would he yank his hand out of her skirt and leave to minister to the erection rutting against the top of her ass? 

Pleasure seared through her brain, short circuiting her thoughts. Mulder sucked hard at her neck. Her hair wasn’t long enough to hide the marks of his mouth. She knew that already. She’d have to buy a scarf or dab concealer over the bruises and risk it wearing off, risk the local officers looking at her like she was a victim, or a rival. But she was tensing against him, arching against him, her body surrendering to him like her mind never would. His long fingers slid between her folds, traced fast circles around her clit, crooked into her and pressed. She yelped and swore and reached back to pull him even closer if she could, to flatten herself in the press of his body, and then, oh God, she was coming, her body spasming around his fingers as he pinched roughly at her nipple and her clit. She cried out, just another transient getting her brains fucked out in a cheap motel, as if losing her mind to pleasure could make her forget the shabbiness of her surroundings and the stress and misery of the past few years. 

Her fumbling hands had hiked her skirt up her thighs before she even noticed. Mulder yanked his hand out of her waistband and pushed his wet fingers up under her shirt, both hands on her tits now, her bra sitting uncomfortably askew. Scully shimmied out of her panties and pushed her hips back, opening herself for him, and Mulder stopped squeezing her tits for long enough to unbuckle, unbutton, unzip, and thrust himself into her. She cried out, the sensation of fullness delicious and desperate at the same time, and her fingers found her clit as he pounded into her. She had to brace her other forearm against the wall to keep from knocking her forehead over and over. Mulder rolled his nipples between his fingers and gritted out something that might have been her name. She spread her legs and let herself be fucked, let him fill her up and come inside her, let the two of them make her see stars until her body sagged and Mulder had to haul her up against his chest again, his dick slipping out of her as dampness drooled down the inside of her thighs. 

She closed her eyes and let herself rest in that moment of aching, sour release, his arms firm but quivering around her, her body sore but her mind finally empty.


End file.
